


SKAM but it's marvel

by thotteri



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clones, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Angst, High School, Microaggressions, Multi, POV Michelle Jones, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, SKAM - Freeform, Sokovia Accords, Timeline What Timeline, Underage Drinking, Weird dialogue, bpd harley keener
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-08-10 10:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thotteri/pseuds/thotteri
Summary: It's perfectly fine that MJ had to kill half her social life to date Peter. It's also perfectly fine that Peter would rather play superhero than actually be a boyfriend.





	1. e

MJ already knows they won't last forever. It's a typical high school relationship. He thinks she's pretty and she's holding his deepest darkest secret that could get them both killed at any moment, so they're together. The anticipation of their eventual break-up gives MJ the illusion of control: if she constantly expects it, she can choose the perfect time to break up. A perfect time when they can still be friends and dream of a world where they're together because he thinks she's pretty and she thinks he's hot. 

If they break up, it's going to be because Peter Parker has been trying to convince their history teacher that the foundation of America is heroism and he deserves _ at least _ a C - 'Of course, to say that our ancestors have never done anything wrong would be largely inaccurate,' - he reads - 'But many of these actions have led to the largely stable society America has today and it can be argued that therefore, many of these actions are in fact largely heroic,' - he pauses to look up at MJ, who's sitting next to him on the bleachers. Their "Loser" corner, as they like to call it. 'That's not, like, racist, is it?' 

Were he not Peter Parker, MJ might have tore him a new one. But he's looking at her with these large puppy eyes, all shy and overly modest. He could be asking _ Hitler did nothing wrong, isn't it? _ and MJ, more hormones than sense, would be too busy imagining them liplocked to bother telling him off. 'Maybe try something other than _ largely _,' she says lamely. 

'It's only there because, like, _ largely _, you know?' - he spreads his hands to demonstrate - 'For all the things I don't exactly know, but, like,'

MJ catches a slim figure in the distance, tawny skin almost white in the sunlight dressed in tight pants and a loose blouse that MJ would recognize anywhere. Liz Allan whips her almost-black silky locks to stare right at MJ and sneers.

'Em,' Peter calls, dragging her back into reality. 'Are you-'

'I'm alright,' she mumbles, ignoring the way her head spins as she takes a deep breath.

Peter gives her a trademark pitying look and leans back with a sigh. 'I'm totally gonna fail History class.'

She feels a little guilty about the A+ paper in her lap, so she places a hand on the nape of his neck, tells him - 'You'll be fine.' - and draws him in. With the buzz in her fingertips, she might have _ finally _ smashed her lips against his and stayed on the bleachers forever, making out with Peter Parker.

'Lord, have mercy!' cuts an overzealous Southern accent that has MJ promptly pulling away and sweeping loose strands beside her ear. 'Y'all are going to hell for that,' Harley says, spinning a baseball cap - Peter's - around on his head. Peter snatches it from him and playfully slaps him. After much dramatic squirming, Harley asks - 'Did you fail again?'

Peter makes a strangled noise - 'I didn't _ fail _. I just. . .haven't gotten a passing grade yet.'

Smirking, Harley snatches up the paper in MJ's lap. She barely registers it's in his hands before sweat starts to itch her underarms. 'Dude,' - her arms are too short to reach as he leans away.

'Meno-. . .Mento-. . .' - Harley squints exaggeratedly - '_ Metonymies _? Is that even a word? Is this a passing paper?'

'It's a B minus,' MJ says coolly. 'I'm no good with essays.'

Peter snorts - 'Yeah, right. The teacher's just an ass.'

The teacher gave MJ a tiny chocolate while praising her work. She won't mention that, of course. Harley hands her back the paper and slaps Peter's shoulder - 'Ned's got the plans for that bank robbery.'

She doesn't need to look at Peter to know that he's struggling for the appropriate words to say _ Oops, I forgot tonight was the one night I promised to hang out with you. _

'It's fine,' - MJ puts her paper away and slings her bag over her shoulder - 'I've got. . .a thing . . .with my mom, so. . .Later, losers.' 

Peter flashes an apologetic smile and MJ slips her headphones on, hurrying away.


	2. f#

Her mom isn't MJ's favorite person, but it still hurts a little when she comes home to an assortment of post-its stuck to the fridge. They may have very well amounted to  _ I'm probably never coming home, but I cooked you some meals for you to enjoy wallowing in your loneliness.  _ 'Thanks,' MJ says to no-one as she finds salads thrown together and stored in dozens of bowls. It's always salad.

Salad does, however, make for a good companion in ignoring overdue Maths homework in favor of scrolling endlessly through Insta feeds. Half the posts are pretentious science memes, so technically she's learning right? And staring her messages with Peter until  _ online _ shows under his name doesn't make her an overly-attached girlfriend as long as she doesn't send any messages, right?

Even if she starts counting the hours he's been offline.

Or typing in lengthy paragraphs that she quickly clears.

. . .Right?

Too many bank robbery reports read out of morbid curiosity force her thumbs to dial a number she'd rather not have to keep on her phone. 

'Yep?'

MJ pulls on the eaten edges behind her neck. 'Hi, uh. . .' It's easy to imagine how Harley might spin this into the pathetic griping that it actually is when he decides to recount the tale to Peter, so she takes a deep breath and puts on her cool girl façade once more. 'AcaDec girls are so weird, right?' - Laughter comes through and MJ finds relief in knowing she's playing her role successfully, so she continues - 'They take their books to the bathroom, it's insane. They're like, the most high-strung girls in all of Midtown.' That last part is probably one of the biggest lies she's ever told, but what would Harley know?

'You were on the team too, though.'

'That's 'cause,' -  _ Because Liz Allan _ \- 'All the other teams have gammas. Can you imagine trying to stand out when everyone else is like, reading minds and shooting laser beams? The only gamma there is Peter and he's-'

'He barely has powers,' Harley chortles. 'All he's got is super ADHD.'

'Speaking of, did he ever get back from, y'know,' - Death to the lovestruck dumbass who was about to beg Harley of all people for Peter's whereabouts.

'He hasn't,' - There's a pause, a bit of shuffling that brings about images of one hero's body riddled with bullets and MJ squeezes her eyes shut - 'Well, Ned went with him so I'm sure he'll be-'

Light thumps against glass turn her attention away from her own macabre imagination to her window and MJ can't help but grin. 'I'll call you later,' - The phone nearly lands on the floor in her eagerness to open the window. 

'You know the neighbours will tell my dad if they catch you and-'

'And he'll bar the windows,' - Peter slips in with a literally inhumane amount of grace and lands on his feet like a ballerina. Why he chose AcaDec is still beyond MJ. 'You keep saying that, yet here we are.' He pulls off his mask, revealing a too-red face and MJ almost foolishly asks if he's alright.  _ You good, having dodged hundreds of bullets and swung across this city on a pair of razor-thin ropes? _

'Can you believe they shot at my phone?' Peter says, pulling his gloves off to scratch under his web shooters. 'Like, I can't take that back to the store. Maybe Ned could fix it, but could he? Probably. If I got something from Mr. Stark. But would he give it to me?' He spends a few moments verbally arguing out something that probably makes even less sense in his head before stopping abruptly, eyes snapping to MJ. 'I'm rambling, aren't I?'

'No, it's,' - It's cute, MJ thinks. She also thinks there's probably something disingenuous about finding it cute - 'Actually, yes. Please, shut up.'

Peter's lips curl into a meek smile and he slips his palms over hers, stretching her arms wide before imitating some poor recreation of ballroom dancing. Even though he's only playing around, MJ can't stop the butterflies brutalizing her stomach. She's never trusted her feet and Peter is, well, Peter. 

'What are we dancing to?' she asks, hoping she sounds as confident as she likes to imagine she does.

Peter shrugs, humming a song with no clear rhythm and it's only when his voice cracks that she realizes he's. . .shaking. Before she can say anything about it, he pulls away, shoulders bunched up as he stumbles towards her desk. MJ's heart jumps when he picks up the first paper he sees - 'I thought you said it was a B minus.'

'Isn't it?' MJ tugs on a knot in the center of her scalp, praying that nothing in her voice gives her away.

His brows raise in shock. 'It's an A plus,' he gasps. 'I didn't even know A plus was a grade!'

MJ picks up her phone and scrolls aimlessly to ignore the butterflies back at it again as Peter starts flipping through the paper. She hates how he manages to make his scrutiny look as cute as it is terrifying. 

' _ An overwhelming amount of enhanced individuals, including those who pass as unenhanced, are frequently met with casual discrimination, _ ' - It's a struggle to  _ not _ gag as he reads her work aloud - 'Are they really?'

MJ shrugs, despite the naïve  _ Michelle  _ in her that wants to show off all her citations and sources. She's smart enough to know he's only being courteous. Or jealous. Or both.

' _ White Americans- _ '

'If you keep reading it out loud, I'll burn it.' 

Just to push her buttons the tiniest bit further, Peter makes a show of leaning against her desk, paper held out in front of his face as he glances conspicuously at her every other second. MJ decidedly busies herself with re-arranging books on her narrow shelf, because she's pretty sure she'll die if she catches Peter glancing at her one more time.


	3. g#

The "Loser" corner is very visibly for losers. It's comprised of an awkward fat kid and even more awkward skinny kids and one girl who thinks she's too cool for make-up even though there's nothing inherently cool or radical about showing off zits and wrinkles. MJ usually accepts and embraces it, which is incredibly easy once Ned and Peter start recounting their endeavours with a shameless amount of childish noise or Harley sneaks in again with some gadget he's stolen from a lab or museum and MJ thinks in the back of her mind about how funny crime is once you're what Harley is. Being alone on the bleachers reminds her exactly what it's like being a loser - a loner. Despite being dressed in more clothes than necessary for gym class, somehow the air prickles her skin and MJ drags her nails mindlessly across her elbow. Her mind is transfixed on Liz Allan. She's on the other side of the court, doing Liz Allan things like twirling locks of perpetually smooth hair around her finger as she seamlessly explains some chemistry theory to the other AcaDec girls. Or maybe she's explaining their study plan for winning the nationals. With her waist jutted out, knee flexing like she's a model, MJ sort of wishes she herself were still an AcaDec girl - not some loser hunched over and staring creepily at pretty girls.

'Hiya,' - a too-cheery tone pulls MJ out of her mind and she can already feel herself shutting down. She can't help it; unsolicited socialization before 7pm just isn't tolerated. 'You know, gym class is for gymming,' - MJ can only describe the guy as curly; curly hair, curly smile, curled lashes, curled fingers latching onto his waist as he stretches with way too much familiarity.

'Oh, really?' MJ responds, hoping it's clear in her voice and face how much she wants to be left alone. And yes, she's incredibly aware of the irony.

The bastard doesn't leave - 'Yes, really,' he says. 'But whatever. There's this party on Friday hosted by the theater club-'

'I don't do theater-'

'-For kids who don't do theater.' He's got this shit-eating grin on his face that makes MJ scowl. 'Kids who would, you know, rather spend time ogling other kids who actually have lives and friends. Kids who think they're way too cool and smart for relationships when in reality,' - he leans forward and lowers his voice - 'They're just too sad for it. But you're not like that, are you?'

MJ hates that her brain chooses that exact moment to lag and has to settle for the least ideal response - 'Whatever.' - and the guy smiles way too hard at that.

'Great, pass me your phone.' - MJ doesn't pass it so much as she picks it up and the guy snatches it out of her hand, returning it after swift tapping at the screen. 'I'll see you there,' he says with a sickly sweet smile and MJ, she's probably still scowling.


	4. a

'For some random reason, he wants the accords reviewed  _ again _ , like he just doesn't want people to fight, which is insane, right?' - MJ nods as Peter rants about someone's something superpower. She's too enamoured by his neck to care about what he's saying—it's not everyday he shows up to school, let alone catches the same bus as MJ  _ and  _ sits next to her. 'Like, if you're a gamma and you've got abilities, you  _ have  _ to fight, right? What else are you gonna do with your abilities?' 

MJ imagines flying, no desperate and impoverished masked terrorists involved. Or maybe swinging with Peter again, but somewhere with less buildings, less pollution, more stars. There's probably a new restriction about gammas casually travelling through air, though. 

'So Tony's like, what more can they fix—I mean, I personally don't think any of it needs fixing—and Cap's like, some gammas should have more liberties based on their strength, so Tony had me do all these tests to measure  _ my  _ strength. And now I'm officially the strongest Avenger,' Peter finishes proudly. 'Did you know I'm immune to fire? Like, it still hurts, but I can't get-'

'Do you want to go to a party?'

Peter blinks rapidly like she's grown another head - 'A  _ party _ ?'

'Yeah,' - MJ mentally slaps herself.  _ Act cool. _ \- 'You know, where people hang out and stuff.'

'A party,' Peter repeats, scratching his neck. 'I mean. . .Your birthday is in December, right?'

'Didn't say it was a birthday party.'

'What's it for, then?'

'Kids who would rather spend time ogling other kids who have lives.'

'I have lives,' - Peter is visibly relieved when the bus stops and he gets in line with the other people filing out. ' _ A life _ .'

'Yeah, but,' - MJ has to jog a little to not lose him in a crowd of other students. 'It's just a party. Nothing big. Plus, I'm going, so you  _ have  _ to show up.'

Peter laughs breathily. 'I feel like it's a trap. We're still-'

'We're still making web fluid, right?' - Ned cuts in—literally fills the space between MJ and Peter, placing an arm over each of them and MJ does her best not to cringe. 'My ma thinks we're trying to win an award since I told her I'm staying overnight and-  _ Oh. _ '

MJ looks straight ahead, doesn't care about what Peter is hissing at Ned,  _ really  _ doesn't care that he's going to spend their only weekend together making some sticky fluid. After all, he  _ has _ to fight, right?

'Em, I swear I didn't-'

'It's fine.'

'Like, I didn't know-'

'It's fine.' - MJ ducks away from Ned's arm and pulls the straps of her bag closer, pacing as fast as she can to her class.


	5. b

MJ can act cool all she wants, buy shirts two sizes too big, tie her hair as loosely as possible and hunch over like Quasimodo, but there's a picture of her and Liz Allan on her bedroom wall behind her shelf. Not just any normal friends picture: it's the one where they used the same lipstick and stretched Liz's cardigan long enough so they could both stick an arm inside. It's dumb, it's so fucking dumb, but every time MJ starts to feel the universe raising its weapons against her for no obvious reason,  _ that _ is the picture she holds tentatively in trembling hands when she should be texting Peter to assure him that her tantrum is nothing worth panicking over. Only the dumb voice mimicking "empowering" make-up vloggers keeps telling her that being mad about not having even a single weekend with her boyfriend isn't a tantrum. That Peter deserves damn well to panic and more. That

_ Liz Allan wouldn't do this. _

That's different, though. Because on the back of the picture is  _ Michelle + Liz _ in a heart and MJ isn't quite Michelle anymore and everyone these days is busy with one thing or the other and maybe Liz  _ would _ do that. Maybe Liz would promise her a weekend at a billionaire's cabin upstate and then invite half the fucking decathlon team because she just didn't  _ know _ .

MJ imagines tearing the picture, getting over all these petty little things, but instead she sticks it right back up in its place behind her shelf.


	6. c#

She straightens her hair. More accurately, holds her hair in a straightener with windows wide open until the smoke gets too much for her lungs. Every mixed hair beauty blogger would no doubt stone her if they knew she's simply burning her hair. Whatever, MJ just doesn't want to look like herself anymore. Cheesy as it is, it gives her the sense of control and relief as her hair finally stops forming knots around itself. And obviously, once her hair is done, make-up and jewelry come next, even though she doesn't have an extensive collection of shades like Liz does. Everything she has is either too light because it was made for white skin or too dark because it was made for black skin and she ends up with an ashy, almost-yellow blend; the kind she and Liz would laugh at on TV shows. 

The most pathetic thing is that even though she's going to a party alone, by herself, with music and a crowd of R train commuters as her only companions, her mind still orbits  _ Liz Allan  _ and  _ Peter Parker _ . They are stars burning equally bright and equally scorching the folds of her brain, turning tissue into liquid, setting any chance at a sense of self aflame. It's unhealthy. MJ doesn't care. She  _ shouldn't  _ care. And yet. 

And yet the moment she steps into a venue that feels less for kids who don't do theatre and more for kids who casually slip valium into their own meals, she wants to go back to sitting in her bedroom and waiting for Peter to return her texts. Plus, it's impossible to recline into her jacket - Peter's actually - in a dress this tight and she can't chew her lip now that there's lipstick on it so she has to keep her head high despite the blindingly colorful strobe lights. Curly shows up with that dumb grin on his face that MJ mirrors because she knows she'll probably look dumber than him if she scowls. 'I'm so glad you came,' he says too sweetly, taking her hand to twirl her around. 'You cleaned up nicely too.'

'Oh, screw you,' - She's never been one for coming up with rebuttals in short spans of time. He twirls himself away, skin fluttering every shade of pink and gold and MJ can't tell if that's his ability or he blew half his allowance on some super expensive effect. She wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter. After all, half the kids at Midtown were heirs to millionaires.

She hates Curly, no doubt about it, but his absence brings back that stingingly naked feeling again. All she wants to do is find a corner she can huddle in, which is nearly impossible since pretty much every square inch has a human being shoving past with their partner of the night and being here alone pretty fucking pathetic and maybe MJ shouldn't have come. 

She does find the drinks table though, which is like, half as good as solitude. 

''Scuse,' - An all too familiar voice has MJ almost drop her shot glass. She turns to see Liz Allan, obviously pretty and glowing and everything MJ plucks her own feathers out to become. It's about a decade of staring before MJ gulps down the lump in her throat and her mouth finds a will of its own.

'I'm sorry. Really. I didn't want to mess everything up and I'm sorry and I miss you.'

Liz purses her lips, amused. 'Do you think he cares if you straighten your hair?' she chuckles. 'You actual fucking clown.'

MJ is used to name-calling - she spent most of sixth grade dealing with it - but when Liz does it, it's a knife piercing right into her abdomen. She stands there like a gutted fish as Liz pours herself a glass of whiskey. Some guy, one MJ recognizes from the AcaDec team, leans over to whisper loudly - ' _ Brant snapped! _ '

Liz laughs and joins the guy in chatter about  _ white people _ and  _ Adderall _ . The two of them stalk off, probably to somewhere more private like pairs of people tend to do at parties.

'She's probably just mad 'cause your hair's nice. Don't dwell on it.' The speaker probably didn't know they were going to a party, because their entire frame is hidden in a baggy and worn leather jacket. Or maybe they're just smarter than MJ. They twist a finger in a kinky lock that brushes the start of their forehead. 'Mine's too short for anything.'

MJ smiles politely, holding her breath. She needs a bathroom.


	7. d#

Liz is right: MJ is a clown. She certainly looks like one when she stands in front of a mirror, pale make-up creasing along her wrinkles, wet hands aggressively scrunching up her hair so it coils and shrinks again. The only thing missing from her look is running mascara and the only thing keeping it in place is the fortunate fact that MJ isn't one for crying. Also, there's already a person crying hysterically in one of the stalls and a combination of curiosity and concern leads MJ to push on the door slightly. Inside is a girl on the floor, flung over the toilet. She does have the complete look: long blond hair quickly slipping out of a hair band, edges of her face highlighted scarlet, black streaks running down her cheeks, button-down dress slipping off one shoulder. 

MJ can't think of the last time she saw a face turn this red and teary, with the exception of Peter having a panic attack.

'Do you need help?' MJ asks quietly.

The girl picks her head up, heaving in a poor attempt to stop sobbing. 'I-' She sniffs heavily, gulps and sighs. 'Can you get me . . . Can you get me Bluebird? Just ask . . . for Bluebird. Most people know who-' She doesn't get into the next sentence without breaking into loud wails, saying something MJ can't exactly make out, but nods in response to anyway. 

MJ does as she's told, awkwardly tapping the elbow of the first person she sees and having to yell so she's heard over the music. A few redirections and pointed fingers and ' _ Who? _ 's and MJ finds the guy enjoying the attention of a crowd as he jumps high enough to almost hit his head on the ceiling. It's even more awkward having to push through the crowd, grab him by his wrist and lean in to yell - 'I think your girlfriend's having a breakdown in the bathroom.'

The guy laughs. 'Never heard that one before.' - But he doesn't seem to mind as MJ leads him back to the bathroom.

' _ A fucking mutant _ ,' - MJ hears the girl's voice, now bold and strong. ' _ I got replaced by a fucking mutant. Their whole thing is just cheating. It's cheating! _ '

When MJ opens the bathroom door, the girl is now pacing while a larger girl sits on the edge of the sink, swinging her legs. 'I brought Bluebird,' MJ says foolishly. 

' _ I'm  _ Bluebird,' the larger girl says, waving a hand. 

'Wow, you're Bluebird too?' the wrong Bluebird exclaims. 'Can you jump like me?'

'No, but I'm gonna register as a superhero so I can get the jumping boots.'

'Jumping boots?'

'Hello?' The blond girl snaps, clicking her fingers. 'We're doing important things here.'

'Right, sorry.' MJ closes the door. The wrong Bluebird is still standing beside her. 'Sorry,' she repeats.

'S'All good.' He shoves his hands in his pockets. 'So do you wanna-'

'I should probably go home and stuff.'

He nods. 'So no head?' He rolls his eyes when MJ visibly blenches at his words. 'Asshole,' he mutters. 


	8. e

There are a couple of reasons why MJ likes her dad way more than she likes her mom. Her mom spends 90% of her time in D.C., thinks texts and phone calls are equivalent to showing up, hasn't spent a single night home for a month now, and when she does return, it's to stick her nose where it doesn't belong. 'Why is your hair like that?' and 'I found someone who does braids in Jersey, shall I book a date?' and 'If you can get an A plus in History, why can't you get one in Algebra?' and 'You should bring that sweet boy around for dinner. He's much better than your old friends.'

If MJ ever does get Peter and her mom in the same room, it'll be to have them read a manual on how not to treat your relationships like part-time jobs.

MJ's dad is far better. Sure, he leaves too early in the morning for MJ to actually see him and comes back usually when MJ is fast asleep. But on the rare occasion when it's 1 a.m. and they're both awake and at home, he throws together popcorn and candies and cuddles his daughter on the couch as he grades test papers with one hand. 

'How's the decathlon team doing?' he asks in a rare attempt to make conversation.

MJ appreciates the attempt, which is why she does more than just shrug - 'I quit months ago.'

MJ's dad doesn't do follow-up questions. He simply nods and moves on to the next like he's checking them off a list, like he's got them stacked right beside his test papers. 'How's Liz?'

'I wouldn't know.'

'Still with that boy?'

'I guess.'

'Are you isolating yourself again?'

MJ turns to stare at her dad, where purple lines circle under bloodshot eyes that stare right back at her. ' _ Again _ ?'

'You know, you've been a little. . . Like the last time you-'

'I've never isolated myself.'

'Mhm.'

'Ever.'

'Is that why you're here moping?'

'How am I moping?'

He pouts exaggeratedly, pressing his head against MJ's like she was previously doing - 'Oh, everything is so sad!'

'I didn't say that.' - she tries and fails to hide a smile behind a scowl.

'I missed you so-o much, I'm going to stay up way past my bed time-'

'I'm actually going to sleep right now,' she says, rising to prove her point.

He chuckles. 'I didn't think it'd be this easy.,'

MJ rolls her eyes, though she's glad she has a reason to sleep now.


	9. f#

Any anger or resentment she had towards Peter dissipates once they're together again, touching each other everywhere. MJ decides she probably was just being a bitch. After all, Peter's cute and funny and he cares about her and he did try really hard to secure the cabin on a day it'd be empty and it's not his fault that he has to juggle prioritizing a relationship and the fate of New York City and how many guys can do it all and still have time for casual things like sex? 

Peter isn't perfect, but he's well on his way there and MJ is one lucky girl getting to date him. That's what she thinks while her ear is pressed against his chest as she falls asleep to the hum of his heartbeat. 

Then a glass shatters and a chorus of laughter jolts MJ from her sleep. Peter isn't in bed with her - the fact he really got up to fuck around with Ned and Harley brings back that stabbing feeling somewhere inside her, like someone's chipping away at her mind with a scalpel. 

She searches the bed for her phone, but her hand finds Peter's instead. The fact that it's 3 a.m. on a Sunday and Peter would rather act like a hooligan digs the scalpel right into the cortex of her brain. The fact that there's a heart emoji from Liz Allan rips the scalpel out, brings bile behind her lips and MJ screws her eyes shut to ignore the green miasma wrapped around her lungs.


	10. g#

Peter keeps glancing at her, smiling apologetically -  _ I know I said only Ned would come, but I can't exactly stop Harley from doing what he wants, please don't be mad  _ \- and of course, MJ doesn't want to be seen as anything other than the Cool Girl, so she looks away to focus on the portraits that line the oak walls of the living room and runs a hand through the carpet beneath her. 'Stark really just keeps this place empty?' she asks. 

Of the three fanboys around, Ned is the first to answer - 'Most of his business is in the city.'

'Didn't he step down and give it to his wife?' - MJ neglects to add that she only read such a fact out of an article criticizing nepotism.

'Don't mean he ain't busy,' Harley pipes up, sprawled out across the sofa as he tunes his - or Ned's, actually - guitar. 'He got loads of shit to deal with. Stocks, paparazzi, cocaine-'

'Alien threats,' Peter cuts in, glaring at Harley. 'Saving the world and stuff.'

'All those lawsuits, too,' Ned adds.

'Lawsuits?' MJ echoes, attempting some degree of interest.

'Yeah, about copyrighting new energy and se- Ah, uh,' A couple of glares and gestures from Peter make Ned hesitate to finish his sentence. Ned instead has a silent conversation with Peter that - based on how many times they point at MJ - probably has something to do with her.

'And sexual harassment, whoo!' Harley exclaims, then laughs at his own poor taste.

Peter now watches MJ like he's expecting something horrific and only then does MJ realize this is the part where she's meant to go off on the patriarchy or the upper class as she so often does. She merely nods and mutters, 'I see.'

Clearing his throat, Peter awkwardly grabs Ned's wrist - 'We're gonna check on the, uh. . . web. . .thing.' - and then they're off. Harley chuckles, strumming the now-tuned guitar.

'Do you . . .' - MJ hates that her mouth has taken the initiative to ask questions better left unasked. But Harley's already looking at her with brows raised and MJ has a reputation, so she continues. 'Do you know Liz?'

Harley hums, squinting. 'Skinny chick with the long hair that Pete always hangs around?'

'Nevermind,' MJ sighs, leaving the room to find somewhere that's easier to breathe in.


	11. a

MJ has a book signed by former First Lady Michelle Obama. She still hasn't gotten past the second page, mainly because it was a gift from her mom, but also because she's not the biggest fan of Michelle Obama. In seventh grade, MJ's classmates thought it was the funniest thing that she actually cared enough about people getting shot down in the streets that when her teacher tried to boil the whole situation down to gang violence, MJ went off on a rant that ended with her saying "black lives matter". A week after that, Michelle Obama visited the school to discuss the same exact thing and used those exact words and for the rest of her time in middle school, MJ was called  _ Michelle  _ or  _ Obama  _ and was frequently asked when she was going to feed her cousins in Kenya. It was mostly tolerable until MJ's mom came back from D.C. with a thick paperback in her hands, proudly recounting to everyone she could every single word she had said to the First Lady -  _ I told her I had a daughter with my African American husband and I wasn't sure what kind of books I should get for her and she took this book right off her shelf, can you believe? _

Inside is signed  _ From one Michelle to another _ and every time MJ picks it up, she's reminded that she's never really had any value beyond being an accessory.  _ The Thing Around Your Neck.  _ It's dramatic, but MJ probably does have that chain around her neck, regardless of many long words she learns and controversies she follows. It's also relievingly mind-numbing, because she can't understand what the characters are saying once they start speaking Igbo and calling unpronounceable names. So she reads it once they're all in the living room again, with Ned, Harley and Peter playing an unnecessarily loud game.

'Fourth question!' Harley announces. 'Where's vibranium extracted from?'

'Dude, you're making these questions up,' Ned whines.

'If you don't know it, just say you don't. Pete?'

'Uh . . .Brazil?'

'Bzzt! Y'all are so bad at this. MJ, are you playing?'

The cult wars in this story are kind of like how girls at Midtown socialize, but without the guns and less-

' _ Michelle _ ,' Harley calls. 'Oh, hang on. These questions are pretty hard if you're a girl.'

The paperback slams shut and falls into MJ's lap - 'I'm playing.'

'Fifth question!' Harley turns to a random page in the trivia book. 'Who led the first pro gamma movement?'

'Erik Lehnsherr,' MJ answers with ease.

'What's the cosine of tau?'

Peter looks at Harley - 'That's not in the book, is it?' 

'Come on, why would I make this up? Besides,' Harley grins wolfishly. 'It's  _ super  _ easy.'

Super easy for apprentices who excel at quantum physics and trigonometry no doubt. And for MJ, who doesn't even know what tau  _ is _ , it's the start of a nightmare. 'Ninety,' she answers quietly. 

Ned guffaws loudly and it's something between a chain reaction and the inherent hilarity of some girl not knowing tau or its cosine when Harley and Peter join in. Haha, isn't it so funny MJ doesn't know trig? Isn't it so funny she's a laughing stock for a party she didn't invite? Isn't it so funny-

A thunderous knock on the front door silences their laughter, and MJ can't quite give enough of a shit to share the same startled expressions as the rest of them. She draws her knees up to her chest and opens up the first page of her book again. Harley's the one to go check who it is and when another loud and obnoxious voice resonates through the house, MJ is thankful for what little silence was had. 

Harley ducks his head back into the living room - 'Flash has brought the goods!'

' _ Flash _ ?' Peter almost chokes.

'What  _ goods _ ?' Ned asks with an equal amount of confusion and surprise.

Harley rolls his eyes and groans, 'Quit being pussies and come.' He doesn't spare them any real answers before leaving. Ned shrugs and follows suit. 

Peter watches MJ with a hesitance that's irritating at this point - 'Look, I-'

'Whatever,' MJ says. 'It's whatever, isn't it?'

He nods, rising slowly, tucking his hands under his arms, then through his hair, then in his pockets like some sort of ritual to rid himself of anxiety. He stops in his tracks like he still has something to say - an apology maybe - but he continues on anyway and MJ's really the fool for thinking he might do something more.


	12. b

MJ has taken to flipping between the first and second pages of her book. Somebody steals something and somebody has a car - she can understand the words, but they won't settle and form in her brain. It's as though there's a mental guard blocking everything out, except the chatter from the kitchen. Oh, she can hear it loud and clear.  _ Harley, you cannot eat silica gel, don't do it, you're going to die.  _ \-  _ Quit lying, I eat silica gel all the time. It tastes just like French toast.  _ \-  _ What the fuck? What the fuck? _ Something cracks with a resounding shatter and they break out in laughter like loud noises are so funny. It's followed by another shatter, and another-

MJ slaps her book shut, all but storming out of the living room, into the hallway. She passes the kitchen, where a web zips and attaches to her hair before she even realizes it. There's a sharp tug that elicits a shriek from her and apparently, that's funny too. 

'I'm so sorry,' Ned cackles, hitting the button on the web shooter around his wrist. It spurts out, falling slowly to the ground and another web springs and attaches to the wall.

'You're doing it all wrong,' Peter says, but he doesn't take the thing from Ned. He's too busy sucking on the blunt between his thumb and forefinger. 

'MJ!' - Harley's sitting on a counter beside Flash, square-cut papers, and a tiny bag filled with something green. 'Come have some MJ! Some Mary Jane! Some-'

MJ charges up the stairs, only to be stopped by - 'Em?' - Peter standing at the foot of the staircase, his audience beside the frame of the kitchen door. MJ has to wonder if they're putting on a show and she's the star. 'Are you mad at me?' Peter asks. It might have seemed like an innocent enough question if not for the small smile on his lips.

The stench of marijuana turns her stomach and  _ mad _ doesn't begin to describe the tightness in her lungs, the grounding of her teeth. 'Since when do you smoke?' she bites.

He chuckles, 'Since always? Helps me focus. Are you mad, Em? Em, why are you-'

'Because you're acting like a jerk!' she snaps. 'Because you said this would be for us and even Flash is-'

'I didn't invite him!'

'Then why's he here?'

'Why am I here?' Flash mimics and Harley laughs into his shoulder.

'I can't make time for everything,' Peter says.

'Oh, but you can make time for Liz.'

'What does Liz have to do with this?'

'You're the one who's with her all the time.'

'What?' Peter snorts, because it's absolutely  _ hilarious  _ that MJ's anything but his extremely cool, nigh-emotionless girlfriend. 'That's because she's got the AcaDec questions.'

'Why would you need them? You don't even come to school anymore.'

'I need them  _ because  _ I don't come to school. I  _ can't.  _ I have to save this city, remember?'

'You are so fucking delusional,' MJ hisses. 'You're beating up people who can't afford a meal just so the government doesn't kill your aunt and drug you 'til you're brain-dead.'

His face falls at that. Is it wrong that his frown, his wobbling chin, tears threatening to fall satisfy her? But then they  _ do  _ fall and any satisfaction is replaced by deep concern, apologies stacking up in her throat and she almost does say sorry. She almost does, but her feet take her up the stairs without a care. She's not the one in the wrong anyway.


	13. c#

MJ doesn't go to school on Monday. She can't. Peter's still texting her part-apologies, part-rants that have started to make her phone lag and she imagines seeing him at school will just give him the chance to say it to her face. Things like,  _ it was wrong of me to bring everyone to the cabin, but what else was i supposed to do?  _ and  _ you could bring your friends too??? _ and  _ by the way i don't beat up poor people, the lowest salary of someone i've ever taken down is 7k _ and the fact that he sends her all that without an ounce of irony is sort of sickening. She doesn't  _ hate _ him, but he's

He somehow makes watching  _ Dynasty  _ more appealing than genuinely answering texts and by the end, all she replies with is  _ yeah i'm sorry too _ and that seems to be enough for him.


	14. d#

It's a little easier on Tuesday. Nodding along to whatever supervillain  _ who is not poor, like dude, I'm poor, so I wouldn't- I wouldn't beat up a poor person _ (Peter's begun prefacing his anecdotes that way) got sent to jail and what enhancements Tony  _ He's my official mentor-I had to put him down when I registered, 'cause I'm underage and all  _ lets Peter add to his spider suit. But it's a struggle not to crack a joke about child soldiers, since Peter keeps side-eyeing her like he's going to explode into tears again if she says the wrong set of words.

MJ almost forgets they don't have Algebra together until she's right in front of the classroom and Peter stares at her expectantly.

'What?' she asks.

'Your period.'

She flushes - 'My  _ what _ ?' 

Peter points at the door behind her. 'You've got math, I've got chem so. . .'

'Oh, right,' she hesitates. 'Well, then. See ya, loser.' It sounds like a question and she's through the door before she realizes Peter was leaning towards her to kiss her.

Once she's paces through the pre-class chatter, there's that naked feeling like everyone's gazing knives into her arms, so she pulls the sleeves of her sweater past her fists and takes a seat at the back of the class. Even then, the chatter steals her mind and she ends up flipping through her notes aimlessly, ears dedicated to the noise that doesn't concern her.

' _ Hey, aren't you Ironheart? _ '

' _ Yeah? _ '

' _ Like the pornstar? _ '

_ Ironheart  _ slams her books with a thud that shuts half the class up and has MJ suddenly looking for something else to focus on like someone might call her out for eavesdropping. She isn't aware of the footsteps approaching until  _ Ironheart  _ takes a seat beside her, thrusting books onto the table in frustration.

'Oh look, your handwriting's nice too,' - It's the person from Curly's party and the first thing MJ thinks is  _ she's cool _ . Like actually cool, not latching on to anyone generous enough to give attention. With a torn denim jacket that looks too discolored to have been manufactured that way and a tapered afro, they look like they've already taken on the world. Twice.

The second thing MJ thinks is that she's probably mentally misgendering someone and even if it's only in her mind, there's the unsettling feeling that  _ Ironheart  _ might just pierce through and read her mind. Or might actually be literal mind reader.

'Mine's shit,' Ironheart continues, opening up a notebook filled with barely legible scribbles.

'I think it looks great,' MJ says.

'Ah,' - Ironheart raises a finger - 'That's a lie.' Maybe her mind  _ is  _ being read. MJ thinks of an annoying song just in case. 'I'm Riri, by the way. MIT dropout.' 

'MJ,' she replies. 'I'm a Skrull.'

'Skrulls don't hang around high schools.'

'I was joking.'

'I wasn't.'

MJ stares at Riri, wondering if she's being made a fool of, but the teacher enters the classroom before she can ask anything else.


	15. e

'What's the homework like?' - MJ thinks Peter's asking Ned for more than a few minutes, since their Loser space has temporarily been relocated at Ned's locker.

'What, like algebra homework?' She has a tendency to completely remove all memories of algebra once she steps out of the classroom just to save herself the headache. 'I. . .wasn't paying attention.'

Ned laughs, 'I bet you've already done it.'

'I bet it's already marked,' Peter adds.

'I bet they're gonna put you on AcaDec again.'

MJ shrugs, hoping none of the discomfort that comes with thinking about AcaDec is showing on her face.

'I heard they've started dropping non-gammas,' Ned continues. 'With Visions in the league-'

'You do know it's not a gamma-exclusive school, right?' Peter says.

Ned only shrugs, 'Never met a non-gamma in their uniform. Besides-'

'Hi!' a sickly sweet voice, the kind that's practiced for commercials and flights, appears behind them. It's the girl from the bathrooms, only now her hair is tied neatly, each golden strand either gelled down or snipped off. 'I'm Betty Brant,' - she shakes each of their hands with a tight grip and a wide smile - 'President of the superhero-student union.'

'I'm Senior President,' Bluebird says.

' _ Vice _ President,' Betty hisses. 'We just wanted to thank-'

'I'm not a superhero,' Peter says with all the confidence of a giraffe on a tightrope.

Betty scowls, 'I wasn't talking to you.' She turns to MJ, all smiles again. 'As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by this uninvited gamma-'

'Not a gamma.'

'We wanted to thank you for all your help at the party and formally invite you to our superhero-student union,' - she holds MJ's palm between her own and all MJ can think about is how comparatively soft they are - 'We'd love to have a sound mind on the team.'

'Other than mine,' Bluebird adds.

'I'm not really-' MJ clears her throat. 'Not really into clubs-'

'It's a  _ union _ ,' Betty points out. 'I don't know how your people do things in the Bronx, but it's really important to have a sense of community here. Connections. Family.'

'I'm from Queens,' MJ says quietly. Betty probably doesn't hear her, because she goes on.

'To not be in a club at this time of term, that's social suicide. Right, Sally?'

Bluebird nods absent-mindedly, staring at something behind or beside MJ. 'We're like that Jonestown suicide cult. Can't get out once you're in.'

'She's joking,' Betty laughs mechanically, slapping Bluebird's arm. 'You'll be at the union meeting, right?' 

'Um,' MJ answers eloquently.

'It's settled!' Betty shakes her hand again. 'We'll see you there.' She all but yanks Bluebird by her hoodie, storming through the herd of other students. Ned and Peter break out in laughter. 

'Oh my god, Sally?' Ned says. ' _ Sally? _ '

'You know her?' MJ asks.

'Nobody needs to know about Sally,' Peter winces, face fully scarlet. 'Look, we've got class in, like-'

'It was summer camp,' Ned begins. 'And Peter here-'

'Isn't it great how MJ and I have the same class?' Peter yells over him, hurrying away with MJ. ' _ Bye, Ned. _ '


End file.
